All the Roads We've Walked
by Nevara Alyss
Summary: She was running from her past. He was seeking bloody absolution for his deeds. When they join forces to avenge his blood lust and transgressions, he finds they have more in common than she lets on. Vignettes from the companions about the enigma they are travelling with. Rated M for violence, language, sexual content.
1. The Die is Cast

Winnie looked up at her captors, confused by the predicament she found herself in. The sound of a shovel scrapping gravel worried her as piles of dirt were thrown to the side. Her large hazel eyes looked to the horizon. Through the blur of her concussion and throb at the back of her head she saw her destination out of reach. The halo of light from the city burned away the darkness that surrounded it. The outstretched fingers entreated the sky and all seemed magical from her dizzying view point.

She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed back the nausea that crept from her gut. Her eyes opened again, this time focusing on where she was. In the pale light of a lantern she saw the wooden crosses that were spread around her. It was eerily quiet, as she looked to her bound hands and to the men that had sacked her on her way to New Vegas.

"You're awake," a man in a checkered jacket stated.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter and cigarette. He lit it and lifted and eyebrow curiously. The man beside him was twitchy. He kept looking around them. His eyes fell on her and just as quickly turned to the dressed man. The smell of cheap cologne and pomade overshadowed the desert flowers in the graveyard.

Winnie let out a grunt of displeasure making the man smile menacingly. She continued to fight her bindings. She felt the burn of the rope cut into her wrists as she worked. She had to do something. Her training was beginning to kick in when she felt two hands press firmly down on her shoulders. She twisted and fought to be released, but the pressure dug into the small spaces under her clavicles.

"Come on, man. Just off her already," the twitchy man insisted.

The finely dressed man stopped him. The sadistic nature of his leer unsettled her. She could tell he was enjoying what was going on. The amount of power he had over all involved gave rise to the cocky amusement he exuded.

"Maybe a con shoots someone in the back, but I'm not a fink," he stated coldly. _Shoot someone? Me? _The skittish man seemed almost frantic now. She watched his muscles tense and assumed that the sound of a twig snapping would have sent the man running. She grunted again and saw the man in the checker coat reach into his other pocket. He pulled from it a small disk that glimmered slightly in the light. His eyes danced wildly. "Do you know what this is?"

She shook her head that she had no clue. She wasn't even curious about the damn thing, she wanted to be released. _If they're going to rob me, then they should just get it over with._ All the grandstanding the leader was doing was becoming aggravating. He had got what he came for and while the small chip seemed like such a trivial item to be carrying for the pay she was getting, the look on the leader's face told her so much more.

"Sorry, kid," he replied.

There was no remorse in his tone. He dug into his jacket this time; his eyes never leaving hers. She saw the glint of chrome emerge from the dirty white jacket. She followed it and saw the gun exposed clearly for her to see. She looked up at him; a modicum of calm overcame her. There was no questioning, no tears or arguing for life; just acceptance.

She didn't have to run anymore. She'd been doing it for so long – running from her past. The pain that she'd thought she buried kept her looking over her shoulder. It was reassuring to know that for everything she had done, this was how it was going to end. Fate's retribution would be swift, instead of haunting her like it had since… _I let him down. I failed. I didn't save him. Them. _She shook her head. _It doesn't matter now. _The flashes of her father, her husband, the imaginings of her unborn child that never drew breath; it all came flashing to her. Everyone she'd ever cared for came in perfect clarity. She'd outlived them all.

The man drew down on her and with a blank expression stared up the barrel. Contentment rushed her; she slowly blinked waiting for him to pull the trigger. She watched his lips move, but didn't hear the words he was saying. _Hello, good-bye. I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry,sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Please forgive me._

She didn't even have time to feel the first tears of relief stream down her face. There was only the punctuation to her life.


	2. Introspective Resuscitation

Boone stood watch over the road. It's sinuous form curving through the mountains and disappearing into the folds of the horizon. He'd been there once, not long before, and seen the ways of cruelty and disparaging processes. His own life hung in the balance of such cold contempt and isolation as love lay dying at his hand. Nothing could have made it any better at the crossroads he faced night after night. The philosophical deviation laid literally before his feet as a constant reminder that he was truly lost and had lost the things he had found most precious in his life.

He knew the dead routine and where it would take him: the bottom of the bottle of alcohol that he'd bought before his shift every night and the argument with his consuming anger that left him fighting not to end what little spark he had left. In his mind, he was dead the second he'd pulled the trigger and watched Carla's body go limp through his scope. He'd killed them both by his ineptitude, his failed vigilance cost him everything and his wife and unborn child paid the price for him.

He peered through his scope toward the faint lights of the encampment. He could have said to hell with it, marched from his post and with guns blazing went down with as many of the bastards as he could, _but Carla wouldn't have wanted that. _He let out a sigh and let slide the rifle from his shoulder. If he had just enough time and could just trust someone he'd find out why things went to the wayside so painfully. His suspicions only kindled more paranoid frustration that isolation seemed to be the safest course of action at the given moment.

_It'll only be a matter of time before…_

Small beeps and chirps peppered the evening air alerting him to the beings in his vicinity. The gentle buzz of electronics whirred below him and a woman's voice between the odd silences between each. He looked down at the figures as they walked toward the overpass. His breath hitched as she drew further away. _Turn back. Go south or north, but no further east. _He watched her through his scope. The small frame of the woman leaned against the rail. Her gaze would move from the floating orb beside her to the bright lights of New Vegas and down to her arm.

He could barely hear her words from his perch, but as a tiny flick of red danced over the railing he saw the woman turn back towards Novac and begin walking towards the town. He lowered his rifle and listened to the conversation as they drew closer. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice as she stopped by the small outcropping of rocks in front of him.

"I know what time it is, yes," she replied, folding her arms and looking towards the hotel. The robot sent off a rambling string of blips and zings that had her staring carefully at her arm and to the mechanism that adorned it. She nodded and looked up to where he stood. "The other guy said he was going to be up there. I'm not worried about it."

Boone stiffened slightly and took a step back. He wanted to be ignored. He preferred it over the alternative. He couldn't rely on anyone. Not with this baggage; that had been proven already. Again, the woman and bot continued walking, until he couldn't track them. Her voice faintly carried but dissipated into the ether, like the mist of blood on the water. He tried to shake the memory from his thoughts, but met with the resistance of his self-deprivation.

It was his punishment along with everything it entailed: the insomnia, the nightmares that wouldn't subside even when he passed out from exhaustion. He refused to eat; he was slowly dying the only way he knew how. It was suitable to the chaos that persisted in the many hours that enthralled him with its melancholy charm. Distraction with cyanide laced decay was what he awaited as the minutes slowed to allow the minutiae of remembrance to solidify in his hands.

He heard the gentle jiggle of the door handle behind him and the creak of the hinges as the door opened. Instinctively, he turned on the infiltrator, gun drawn as they slid through the small opening they had created. He wanted it to be Legion coming to finish what they started, but his hopes were dashed once again. The barrel of his gun met mere inches from their face. Large hazel eyes looked past the weapon to him and slowly hands came up.

"Damn it, what are you doing here?" he growled, holstering his side arm. "You shouldn't startle me like that."

"I saw you up here, I thought I'd ask if you knew," she began.

"Get out," Boone ordered.

He turned his back from her and gazed back towards Cottonwood Cove. He seemed stuck, unable to come to terms with what had happened. _Could anyone blame me? Would they even care if I walked there with my intentions set? _He heard the subtle exhale and the door begin to open again. _No one here can look at me. I don't know who to trust anymore. I know that this woman wasn't involved in Carla's capture and a third party could help solve my dilemma. One of them anyways. _

She was nearly gone when he opened the door and saw her on the stairs, the levitating bot hummed to her and she looked at it briefly before shaking her head.

"No, he didn't know," she replied. A slew of rapid digital noise erupted from her companion as it bobbed up and down frantically. "I know. We'll head out tomorrow. Don't worry your little head about it."

"Wait," Boone called from the door.

She turned to him, eyes full of curiosity, as he descended a couple of steps. The ramshackle bot got between the two of them and buzzed. It shook angrily and looked down upon the woman before droning deeply.

"Ed-E! It's alright," she insisted. She glanced up at Boone, arms crossed and apologized. "He's a bit temperamental right now."

"No, I should be apologizing for how I acted," he muttered. He let out a sigh and nodded for the door. As they walked up the few stairs and back out on to the perch, he hesitated to turn back to the woman. He didn't mean to come-off as a prick, but if he could allow himself to give her an explanation she'd see why he had been so abrasive. _All I have to do is tell her. _"I need your help."

Her eyes grew large at the statement; a small cock of the head, followed by leaning against the door and crossing her ankles in anticipation as to what he was about to say. It was a slightly confrontational posture, but she was all he had to rely on. If someone better suited came along for the task would it have mattered at that point?

"What is it?" she queried. Her eyes diverted to her feet as if in thought.

Boone let out an exaggerated sigh and explained to her what it was he needed. With each declaration he made, her head inched closer to her chest. It was like watching his burden weigh her down. Occasionally, she would nod and look up at him before resuming her posture. It was when he uttered that his wife was dead that she pushed from the door and examined him briefly. She started to open her mouth and he stopped her.

"I can't trust anyone here," he explained. "You're an outsider. I just want to find the son of a bitch who sold my wife."

"Alright. What do I need to do?" she questioned without a hitch.

His eyes darted around. _I honestly didn't think she would say yes. _He pulled his beret from his head and handed it to her. She glanced at it and then to him. It was an awkward silence between them. He thought she was having second thoughts when she took the cap from him and nodded.

"Just bring them out here when I'm on duty. Put that on and I'll handle the rest," he stated. The hollow void in his gut filled with eager anticipation. He was so close to getting his answer. His reprisal and vengeance would be swift, just like Carla's – which was more than they deserved – but wouldn't linger like his dire punishment would. "We probably shouldn't speak to each other until then."

She nodded again and left him without a word. The chirps and beeps persisted until Boone heard the shop's door close below. The soft crunch of gravel under foot trailed away and he found himself again staring at the crossroads. He felt the inevitability of a showdown catching up to him and he preferred to do it alone. _Everyone that has ever interacted with me has been burned. It's for their protection that - whatever I decide - I don't drag them down with me._


	3. A Dualism of Lasts

It was a gentle rain that splashed across the jagged stone of dinosaur teeth. The chill of autumn coated the land in petrichor tainted breezes. Two days of dreary weather and Boone hadn't seen the mysterious woman. He rolled his head to and fro; the aches in his muscles grew in intensity as he leaned over the edge to see if he could see her.

He let out a sigh and resumed his tedious task. He felt the seeds of betrayal begin to grow in him as he waited. _It shouldn't have taken this long. _He rubbed the weariness from his eyes and cleared his throat. Something should have happened to break up the monotony and speed up time from its apparent crawl. A bright white flash of lightning illuminated the surrounding landscape. Over the thunderous roar of the sky he could barely see through the increasing rain and hail that toppled down.

Boone then saw a strange sight below, the odd flash of fire below snuffing itself and reigniting its spark. He pulled his rifle around and looked down and saw the small dot of red amongst the darkness. He shifted his view to the person beside her. The familiar visage of Jeannie May dotted the center of his scope. He could see her lips moving; his excitement mounted. He licked his lips, adrenaline coursed. _You'll never see it coming._

He squeezed the trigger and the familiar crack and jerk of the gun sent the betrayer to the ground. A loud "Jesus Christ!" echoed in the air. He smirked callously. He was so focused on what he had done that he could only stare at her lifeless body. Satisfaction and the amount of degradation he thought she deserved for pay back should have pleased him, but deep down he was at a loss. It didn't feel right. _Why would she do it?_ He glanced over his rifle to see the woman down below.

She was looking up at him with a small furrow of her brow. The tin bot chirped softly and she put her hand up to stop it. She shook her head and began trudging through the puddles towards the dinosaur. When she was out of sight, he felt the jag of adrenaline and endorphins plummet. His muscles quaked in a mix of contentment and utter trepidation. Juxtaposition finally left its mark on him when the door to the sniper's perch opened.

"Are you alright?" she questioned.

He kept his vigil over Jeannie May's corpse. The squeak of the woman's boots behind him drew closer. He could hear her breathing and then saw his red beret appear out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly and politely took it from her. He placed it on his head and let out a sigh.

"How did you know?" he asked hollowly.

"I found the bill of sale," she replied softly.

Boone let out a scoff and turned to the woman before him. "Figures."

"What'll you do now?" She queried, taking a wide brimmed hat from under her trench coat.

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead. Kill as many Legion as I can and after that… no idea," he said with a shrug. He glanced behind him to the overpass and the encampment that beckoned him. "You?"

"Boulder City," she remarked. She took out a cigarette, lit it and peered over the side where the slaver laid dead. She was silent for a few moments before returning her attention to him. "You know, you could come with me."

Boone shook his head. "I don't think you want to go hunting Legionnaires."

She squinted her eyes almost playfully and ashed her cigarette. She gave a final look at the woman below and walked to the door. He watched the subtle motions she made as if she'd been in thought the entire time. She almost seemed lost. More so than when he had last seen her. She opened the door and gave him a look of sincerity.

"You know, you'll kill twice as many if we work together. And a sniper isn't as good without a spotter," she stated.

She turned from him and said good-bye. Boone was beside himself. He lowered his sunglasses and stared at her through clear eyes. Something about the unexpected sadness he heard in her voice socked him in the gut. She slipped through the door and was gone. Again he was alone, he'd gotten what he wanted, but he still felt as if the ends didn't dissuade his anger. It only bolstered it to levels he thought it would never reach.

_She's right. I'm of no use here._

He flung the door open and heard the shop's door close below. The radio played softly and was briefly overshadowed by the thunderous boom that shook the foundation. Pulling open the door and stepping into the torrential downpour, he saw her standing under the awning of the second floor, a lit cigarette between her fingers. Her companion whistled wistfully as she exhaled the grey smoke from her lungs.

A soft glow from her wrist lit up the soft features of her face. Her hands worked deftly for a moment and then she turned and went inside. Boone climbed the stairs, feeling the razor's edge of rain tearing at his bare skin. His clothes were soaked and he was chilled to the bone. He saw the light in her window come on and the gentle croon of music emanating from the door. Her shadow moved around, disappearing for several seconds and then returning.

He examined the area and approached her door. He shouldn't have felt awkward about it but here he was staring at the rusted plaque on the door. He lifted a fist to knock and stopped. _This is stupid. I shouldn't be bothering with this. _He faltered in his reasoning to engage in dialogue with her. _It's late; she'll be going to bed soon._

* * *

Winnie pulled her boots off, casting aside the trappings that made her appear to be a mercenary. It wasn't the persona she wanted to project to the populace. She preferred simplicity over the marked intimidation the garment gave off. Her overcoat dripped over the dirty carpet on the rack and Ed-E chirped as it hovered on the opposite side of the room.

She slid further into her chair, letting her head rest along the back. Her eyes stared up at the brown stains that speckled the ceiling above the bed. Julie London's smoky voice warmed the dimly lit room from the small radio beside the bed. She opened the nightstand and pulled a tumbler and bottle of scotch from the drawer. Letting her hair down and massaging the sting of her scalp away, she let out a sigh and poured the honey colored alcohol into the glass.

She took a small sip, letting the strong burn ease its way down into her stomach. The sweet aftertaste lingered. Exhaustion flooded her. The tension in her muscles relaxed as another gulp of booze melted away the icy ache. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blasting white light of lightning outside her window. Her head rolled toward the window and the small black box she'd received earlier in the day. She hadn't seen it in over six months and was thankful that the courier service had succeeded in getting it to her, given the state of the Wasteland.

She stuck her hand in her pocket to extract the key to the lock. She hadn't been able to bring herself to look in it in over three years. It was her identity she'd sealed away. Everything that had mattered to her was left locked up inside. The faces of the departed, the mementos of her spirit, all entombed in the box. They were the tangible elements of her past, the choke chain she couldn't seem to shake off. It was bad enough she had the memories of her life still in her mind, the physical remnants only amplified the reality.

The small metallic tinge of the key against her fingertips hurried a flood of retrospective snapshots – some good, others bad - happier times that could only be deliberately pushed aside by the counterstroke that life always seemed to provide as a grounding agent. Ed-E let out a remorseful purr, breaking her from her concentration. The small floating bot hovered beside her as if examining her facial expressions.

"No, it's alright. I'm fine. Just thinking," she replied with a weak smile.

She pulled her hand from her pocket and rested it on the table. Her fingers drummed delicately before placing the glass to her lips. She finished off her drink and rose from the rickety chair. She stretched her body and let out a yawn. _We have an early day ahead of us; we should get some rest. _She unlashed her holster from her hip and placed it on the nightstand, followed by the sheath she kept for her combat knife. When she was satisfied with her level of comfort she let out an approving snort and reached for the light switch.

It was just another night to her, with the exception of the knock at the door.


	4. Metaphors and Missing Moments

The door slowly opened, sending cascading yellow light out into the darkness. Boone looked down at the small face giving him an inquisitive look. Long black locks flowed over her shoulders, giving the effervescent hue of blue as her head tilted to give him a better look. She opened the door more and with a quick step to the side let him enter.

"What's wrong?" she asked, closing the door behind him.

"Nothing," he replied. He watched her walk around him, pulling the handgun from behind her back and setting it on the nightstand. "I wanted to talk to you."

She sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. She nodded acceptingly, blowing smoke and placing it in the nearby ashtray. She picked up a bottle of scotch and poured it in to a glass. She offered it without a word and pointed to the chair near the bed. She leaned on her knees, clasping her hands together. She seemed to watch them intently as he sat adjacent from her. She lifted her eyes to the box beside him, the muscles in her jaw clenching slightly at the sight of it.

"What about?" she queried, trying to take her eyes off of it.

"Were you serious about me going with you?" Boone questioned.

"I figured you could use a change of scenery after everything that's happened," she replied. "But you didn't seem interested. So, I figured that was that."

He took a sip of scotch and pondered if it was right for him to leave with her. It seemed odd that a stranger would offer to spirit him away from his life, even if it was just a shadow of what it once was. Her words seemed full of genuine concern, but the look in her eye told him that she could relate to him on that level. He placed the glass on the table and closed his eyes. There were too many ghosts for him here and his perspective of the small town had changed irrevocably.

She stood up from the bed and picked up the box. She seemed so fixated on it that she remained silent as she returned to her spot and placed it on her lap. Her fingers swept across the lid carefully before looking at him. He peered over his sunglasses at her. Something about her posture reeked of discomfort. Without a word, she slipped it into the small pack at her feet and returned her attention to him.

"I don't have anything holding me back anymore," he stated coldly.

"If that's what you want; I don't have a problem with it," she remarked with a sullen tone.

"You know I'll probably get you killed," Boone warned, the corners of his mouth sagging at the implication.

She leaned closer to him and stared him in the eye. There was an ominous fire there that he hadn't noticed before. She smirked carelessly at it, as if to brush off the threat as trivial.

"I survived getting shot in the head. I was by myself then. I don't think it could get much worse than that," she replied. "Besides it would be nice to have someone to talk to…" Ed-E let out a string of chirps and squawks as it bobbed up and down. "… that was human."

"The tin can is coming along, I guess?" Boone muttered. Ed-E buzzed, shaking its whole body at him. The woman looked down at the Pip-Boy briefly, her eyes darting to Boone in amusement. "What did it say?"

"Nothing," she blurted out. Boone went to grab it from her and she pulled it away, nesting it behind her back. "He's been testy lately." She glanced up at the bot curiously. "I'll probably have to check his personality matrix for a short somewhere." She yawned and leaned back against the headboard. "I'll take care of it before we leave." She folded her arms over her stomach and glanced at him. "Did you want me to get you or were you…?"

Boone shook his head. He didn't want to return to the personal hell that was left in the wake of Carla's kidnapping. If his way out of it was to leave with this woman, then he would take it. He had nothing left to lose. And what he might gain: a sense of satisfaction from the murders he entitled himself to commit against the Legion, could only be dealt a deathly blow if his words rang true. He could already see it in front of him. _I'm going to be the death of her. I don't know if I can deal with someone else's demise on my conscience. _

"I'll stay; if it's alright," he answered.

He didn't get a response from her. He lifted his eyes to her and saw the gentle serenity of sleep washing over her. He didn't find the moment awkward to behold; there was a sense of peace she emitted. He stood from the chair and approached the bed. Ed-E chirped hostilely as he neared. Boone put his finger to his lips and mouthed for it to shut up.

He reached across the bed and began to pull the blanket over her. He saw the Pip-Boy, its face glowing slightly as if in sleep-mode. He picked it up, his finger brushing the screen. If came to life in his hand. He could have done anything he wanted at that point with it. He pressed the small button on the screen and saw a small message pop up. It was an audio recording entitled, "To Winnie…"

He glanced at the small woman on the bed and placed the device on the table. She murmured softly to herself as he finished covering her up. He returned to the chair, poured another round of scotch into the glass and watched her sleep. Taking his sunglasses off, he smiled faintly. He'd done the same thing for Carla before he went on his shift. There was familiarity with the action, one he thought he'd forgotten. It was simplicity wrapped in wonder and such a curious endearment that he found himself reminiscing about.

"Damn it, breathe," Winnie murmured dreamily.

He witnessed her hands becoming fists under the blanket. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly. They clumped together as two tears rolled down her cheeks. Boone placed his hand on top of hers and hushed her. She grew still again and he leaned back in the chair. He commiserated with her. He knew exactly what it was like to face demons in your mind. He dealt with them in his sleep – when he gave himself the chance – and during his waking hours. There was no outrunning them. Once the hooks were in, it was hard to get away from those moments.

He slouched in the chair and for the briefest of instances he felt normal in taking in the simpler pleasures he'd been offered. He could allow himself to sleep, even for a few hours. It was in his nature to be guarded around others, but if they weren't aware of it he deemed it worthwhile for them to be oblivious to the obvious: he wasn't as callous and disconnected as he let on. He just didn't want people to get too close, they always ended up dead and their blood would be on his hands. _Like Carla and our child. Like Bitter Springs._


	5. Enemy of My Enemy

They walked for several hours; the sun had reached its apex before starting another gradual descent across azure skies. Peggy Lee's velvety voice sang along the open road from the Pip-Boy. Winnie walked a few feet ahead, small plumes of smoke floating over head as she smoked her cigarette. Boone thought he could hear her humming softly to herself. She seemed wholly unaware that he was there.

They had barely spoken since leaving Novac – which was something he was thankful for. He wasn't one for profound conversation or any conversation really. He knew where they were going, didn't care why, just that he was glad to be out in the world again. He glanced at Winnie, her black locks flitting carelessly in the post-rain breeze.

Winnie stopped and turned to him, "Do you want to stop for a little bit?"

Boone let out a gruff, "No."

The young woman let out a heavy sigh and returned to walking without another word. He scowled at himself for the harsh tone and went to apologize to her, but stopped when he saw movement coming toward them. Winnie had seen it too and she pulled her pistol and gave him a strange look. He couldn't tell if it was anticipation or fear that had set upon her face.

The first set of bullets ricocheting off the ground gave way to his companion returning a volley of gunfire before crouching behind a k-rail. Boone slid beside her as Ed-E trilled angrily. It fired wildly at their aggressors. He stuck his head up briefly to see who it was that was attacking and saw the familiar crimson armor of the Legion.

"I think they're after me," Boone warned, trying to hide his emotions.

Winnie crooked her eyebrow while sliding another magazine into her 9mm. A strange little smile crossed her face and uttered, "I doubt it. They've been after me since I killed one of their people in Nipton."

She fired back rapidly, hitting one of troopers in the thigh. He lurched forward to grab the wound as it poured dark red down his leg. Legionnaires yelled that one had gone down. It only bolstered their resolve and the three man group staving off the six was only waiting before they were goners.

"Which one did you get," Boone questioned, lining up his shot and nailing a distant soldier in the chest.

"I don't know," she stammered out of breath.

"Which?!" Boone yelled, taking his place beside her again.

"I didn't stop to ask his name. Jesus! Why does it matter?" she argued angrily. It was then that he noticed the hole in her jacket, rimmed in red. He didn't know what to think in the moment. He knew hesitation would get them both killed. Ed-E was starting to spark from all the fire it'd taken. Its chirps turned to warbles and its firing became more chaotic. His body became automatic, almost reckless. "I don't have time for this."

The sniper fired off his remaining shots and slid down to reload. He saw out of the corner of his eye, Winnie toss something over the railing in their opponents' direction. She covered her ears almost instinctively and a large burst of dirt and smoke covered the field. He heard her coughing. He could barely see her with all the particulate in the air.

"Are you alright?" he asked, staying as business like as possible.

He knew his face betrayed his emotions. He was genuinely worried for the girl, even if he barely knew her. His mind raced that he was right and she was going to die in front of him. She gave him a pained look and waved that she was fine.

"How many?" she choked out between violent coughs.

He glanced over the rail again, but couldn't see movement. All he heard was the sound of feet and the occasional bullet thudding against concrete. He shook his head; the air was just too heavy with dirt that he couldn't get a count. Winnie groaned in frustration.

"I've had it with this bullshit!" she yelped. She opened up her pack and frantically began rummaging through it. She pulled a small device out and put it on. "There are better uses for these things. It's a shame I have to waste it on them."

"What the hell are you doing?" Boone fired off. He heard footsteps drawing closer to their position.

"I'm not letting these wanna-be Romans stop me from getting to Boulder City," she snapped.

Before he could stop her, she was gone. She just blinked out of existence before his eyes. He saw the smoke swirl in awkward patterns. He could hear scuffling nearby and the footfalls that were drawing closer had come to a stop and turned in the opposite direction. He could hear her breathing, the soft wheeze of pain and adrenaline coming closer. He heard a man's grunt and the whistle of breath that couldn't be hers. He stood up and saw a body fall over the railing, dead.

"Winnie!" he yelled, fearing that she'd succumbed to her injuries.

Only silence replied to his call. Ed-E let out an excited slew of tweets. Its left panel rattled as it jerked and shook in the direction of a nearby gas station. Boone grabbed the pack. The night arose as he walked. He saw the small splashes of blood on the torn asphalt grow closer together as he reached his destination. The chalky, brown dust held perfect impressions of her boots on the road side, leading towards the door of the building. A small handprint stained the wood, seeping red down the grooves.

Boone pressed open the door and saw Winnie sitting on a stack of crates. A large knife stood, stabbed in to the lid beside her. The light of her Pip-Boy cast her in a shade of green. Thick glasses adorned her distressed face, with her eyes fixated on the bullet wound in her shoulder. The stoic sniper sighed, his relief obvious to the only other entity in the room.

"Goddamn it, what the hell were you thinking?" he questioned, his tone coming out as more of a scold than concern. He hurried to her side and saw the burned edges of flesh oozing sanguine down her tank top. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Winnie, finally looked up at him, the glassy gaze of shock stared back at him. It was an eerie blank stare as if she wasn't registering what he was saying. The deep-ingrained frown on her face tore the split in her lip open, dripping blood down her chin. Boone sat her pack on the counter and pulled a stimpak out. She shook her head in disagreement and snapped her fingers harshly. With a violent point towards her stuff, he handed it to her. She rustled through it and pulled out a set of hemostats, rubber gloves, antiseptic, gauze, a pair of stimpaks and a small vial with a syringe.

"I can still feel it in there," she explained, pulling the gloves on. Her eyes never left his. "The collarbone is broken. I'll have to sling my arm, until the meds kick in. Until then, my arm is shot." Ed-E jabbered frantically causing the woman to look past Boone. Her eyes glistened in the dim light as she looked him over. "I see I'll have to attend to your injuries, as well."

"Do you know what you are doing?" Boone asked.

She nodded taking a bottle of alcohol out and holding up the jagged clamps, "I need you to pour this on them."

Boone looked at them. The crude instrument looked more like a torture device than an instrument used in the medical field. He looked to her; her eyes pleading with him to hurry up and do as she asked. He let out a sigh and doused the steel in the noxious smelling fluid. She pulled them back, satisfied that they were clean and gave him a weak smile.

"Do you want me to do it?" Boone queried, his brows furrowing at her pain.

"No. This isn't my first rodeo with extracting bullets," she responded chuckling weakly.

She let out a sigh and returned her focus to her injury. The smile turned into a grimace as the first inches of cold metal pierced the hole. She bit her lower lip and let out a loud whimper. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the instrument delved deeper. He could only watch helplessly, taking a step back and pacing in front of her. She let out several forced breaths and heard the sound of ratcheting as the teeth closed shut. Her hand shook as the first millimeters of blood coated steel slid out.

A few seconds later – which felt like an eternity - the bulbous head of a bullet unsheathed itself from her body. She let out a gasp and dropped the contraption to the floor. Her forehead beaded with sweat as she began the next step in her wound care. She looked to Boone now, a strange sense of anticipation flooding her. She waved him over and gave him a glass bottle. "Pour it."

His mouth went dry as he uncorked the container and silently emptied it into the gaping hole. She let out a yelp and slammed her fist into the wall, causing him to stop. He measured her distress and realized how unprepared he was for her reaction.

"Are you going to tell me who you killed?" he uttered, watching white and pink foam drip from her wound.

"I told you. We weren't on a first name basis. I shot the son of a bitch and left it at that," she growled through clenched teeth. She looked down at the wound and put her hand up to stop him. She gave Boone a peculiar look and cleared her throat. She pulled from her belt a small canteen and sipped it before handing it to him. He held it to his nose and sniffed curiously at the liquid. He took a small drink, the refreshing wash of water hit his parched throat. He set the flask on the counter and she held out a pair of gloves and the gauze. The strap of her shirt was shifted to the side.

"They were in Nipton. I saw what they did," she continued. Boone donned the gloves and began wrapping the wound as she pointed the directions he should go. "The town is dead now. Only one survivor got out. The rest: dead, crucified or taken." With each utterance her voice softened, almost breathy. She nodded when she was satisfied and thanked him.

"You made the right decision, then," Boone told her as he leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest.

She looked up at him a lost, vacant expression on her face. "I killed those that were near death, instead of letting them linger." Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke. "I couldn't do anything to help them."

Boone let out a snort and closed his eyes. He knew exactly what she was talking about. There was a certain amount of helplessness when it came to the victims of the Legion. He'd experienced it many times while he was in the military and then Carla. It was a double-edged sword. You knew you were ending their suffering but at the cost of your own morality and sanity.

He heard scuffling and then her feet hit the floor. His eyes shot open and saw her standing in front of him, her arm in a sling. She had a slight sway to her that after a couple of passes he thought she was going to lose consciousness. He put his arms out to catch her as she stumbled backwards. She hit the crates and swore under her breath.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked, his lips thinning into a line. He saw the vial and the used syringe in her hand.

"I told you: I'm going to Boulder City," She let out a drugged giggle and several snorts of amusement.

"No. Not like this, you aren't," he snapped. He snatched the narcotics from her and threw them in her pack. "We're going to wait until you come down from the initial kick."

The child-like glee turned to one of concern as she fixated on him. She glanced over her shoulder and he followed, seeing the stimpak teetering on the edge by the knife. Again, she returned to his arm almost perplexed by what she was seeing. Her head cocked inquisitively through the stupor.

"The other one was for you," she stated as she peered up through the fine fringe of bangs. "I'm sorry, I got you hurt."

He looked at his arm, saw the tear in his flesh from a graze and picked up the stimpak. She pulled the knife out of the box and sheathed it. As he injected it she started for the door, slinging the pack over her shoulder. He hurried after her and caught the door before it closed.

"I told you to wait," he snapped.

"And I told you I wasn't," she fired back. "Besides, the side effects of the narcotics are brief and I can feel the stims kicking in." She glanced at her Pip-Boy and then to him before walking on. "If we hurry, we can be at Boulder City by ten o'clock."

Ed-E zoomed passed him, his left panel flapping in the breeze. Boone ran after them; his mind racing with thoughts about Winnie, what she had done before they met and how she acted afterward. There was a certain determination; a drive he thought was untouchable in her. He had his death wishes for past due crimes, that's why he left Novac in the first place. Meeting her for the first time made him examine those moments. He knew that recompense was going to come harshly and she was the key to making it so.

He thought he was owed that much. But whatever her burden is, he thought as he walked by her side, seems on par with the inevitable cross to bear when the Legion is involved. Maybe, he pondered while looking out his peripheral at her, she saw an out in me, as well.


End file.
